


The One With the Truth Spell

by captainangua



Series: DeanCas oneshots [8]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Background Case, Case Fic, Dean Hates Witches, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Lovers, Familiars, Gen, Graphic Description, Hunter Dean, Kidnapping, Lonely Castiel, M/M, Mistaken Identity, Pre-Season/Series 01, Truth Serum, Truth Spells, Werewolf Dean, Witch Castiel, Witches, like very diverged, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-28
Updated: 2017-01-28
Packaged: 2018-09-20 11:11:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9488552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainangua/pseuds/captainangua
Summary: When werewolf and hunter Dean thinks he's caught his serial killer witch, he finds that he might have found the wrong witch, and one more willing to fight back than he'd bargained on.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wolveswingsandwrenches](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolveswingsandwrenches/gifts).



> Dumb fluffy (very late) birthday piece for writinfreak.
> 
> Hope it's ok for you!

Cas liked the way the forest around his home felt late at night. In the daytime it was difficult to pretend he was the only one around, and far from civilization – not with cars and trucks constantly racing down the highway near the trees – but by the time evening fell no sound travelled from the road.

Strange, Cas mused to himself as he found his feet walking him in his old familiar pathway through the trees, that he should so crave to feel even more removed from people when he was self-aware enough to admit he was lonely. But then he also knew that he could be, as Balthazar had once described him, “picky”. Picky and “a bit standoffish”. He did enjoy coven gatherings, and even the occasional companionship of the people in the town he lived nearby, but eventually he tended to find group events exhausting in a way he’d observed that few others did.

So mostly, he was happy enough at home on his own. But seeing Balthazar so recently on the other witch’s rare extended visit had made Cas start thinking about how he might do things differently. Balthazar had acquired a rather evil looking parakeet to be his familiar, and though Cas had not taken to the bird itself, the idea of a familiar to help with spells, an animal living with him able to provide companionship was a captivating one.

So though Cas hadn’t walked out into the woods with the express purpose or expectation of stumbling on a perfect creature for himself, because that would be ridiculous, he also wasn’t… not looking.

Shaking his head slightly at himself, Cas kept walking. He’d enhanced a pair of glasses to pick up on more magically inclined life forms but so far he wasn’t seeing or hearing any animals around, never mind ones that showed up glowing.

Wondering whether he should start turning back, Cas stopped walking when he reached the stream, and sighed out a long breath, watching it rise and cloud in the air in front of him and sighing to himself. It wasn’t like he _needed_ a familiar in any of the spells he usually worked, and if loneliness was so keenly bothering him then there was always the pet store in town. Money wasn’t exactly an issue. The only real reason he was out here looking at all was out of some romanticized notion that –

At the sound of a snapping of twigs somewhere behind him, Cas froze and stared ahead. You didn’t go twenty years practicing witchcraft without developing a gut instinct worth listening to, and Castiel’s was currently telling him he ought to be anywhere else than right there.

Nothing supernatural lived natively here, Cas was sure of that, this being his home grounds. But he was almost _certain_ didn’t feel natural…

Slowly, in case he was dealing with an animal which might spring at the sight of sudden movement, Cas turned around and squinted at the treeline through his glasses. Though he still couldn’t see what the thing was, he could make out that it was large, and glowing brighter than anything Cas had been expecting to see when he’d enchanted the glasses on a whim.

The thing was also starting to growl lowly. It sounded doglike, but Cas wasn’t sure. It almost sounded more like…

A wolf, Cas confirmed for himself as he took off his glasses and looked at the creature without its natural aura, but he still couldn’t take in what he was saying. A wolf, a real wolf, glossy dusky blonde coat, with incredible green eyes that didn’t look as though they belonged on anything canine. The unblinking eyes and the ears standing straight up suggested wariness, but also a strange interest that didn’t necessarily feel threatening now that the growling had stopped.

Wondering why he’d been built such an idiot when he was supposed to be relatively intelligent, Cas raised up the back of his hand out in front of the wolf and waited to see if he’d come any closer to him. Gods, he wished he’d brought his camera. Claire, his niece, would have been thrilled by a picture like this. But then Jimmy who didn’t have as much endless capacity for enjoying surprise as his daughter might ask what a wolf was doing just wandering around near his house.

How would Cas to explain things to his brother if he brought the wolf home as a familiar…

He was getting far too ahead of himself. Taming a wild animal, even with magic, wasn’t exactly a simple task and he had no experience here, he reminded himself.

And though it wasn’t ridiculous to find a wolf roaming around alone in New England, Cas had certainly never seen any before.

Cautiously the wolf made a few step forwards to sniff at Cas’s hand, while suspiciously keeping his eyes on the witch’s face. On a whim, Cas let out gentle sparks from his fingers, guiding them to dance around the wolf’s head to see how he would react. The wolf, amazingly, looked more fascinated than alarmed. Trying not to let himself get overexcited too soon, Cas smiled, being careful not to show his teeth, and let out a few more brighter sparks.

Watching the wolf gaze up at the sparks Cas blinked for only a moment, but that was enough time with his eyes off of the wolf for it to have lunged its paws at his chest. He was looking up at its snarling mouth as it pushed him down to the ground by the time he realized what was going on.

Focusing now desperately on any defensive magic he might be able to work without any preparation or materials, Cas did his best to push at the claws that were rapidly digging through the fabric of his shirt. By the time he looked back up at the snarling wolf’s head he found out he was now looking at a man.

A very attractive and extremely _naked_ man.

Both of which were irrelevant next to the fact that Cas had just got himself pinned down by a werewolf without even considering that that’s what the mysterious friendly wolf might have been. If it wasn’t for the fact his limbs had been so effectively pinned to him, by the human body Cas was definitely _not_ looking down at, Cas would be slapping himself for being so _stupid_. Stupid and caught up in romantic notions about familiars just coming up and _finding_ people because he was a lonely self-important _fuck_ who apparently –

“Caught you, witch,” the wolf told him, grim smile twitching his lips up slightly,

“Why would you be trying to catch witches?” Cas asked, forcing himself to think with his apparently useless self-preservation instincts and not his dick.

The wolf pressed down a little harder on Cas’s shoulders. “Well. Mostly I was looking for _you_ , Mr Magic Fingers. You know…” Claws started digging in again, “Ten townspeople dead in as many days, that tends to get a lot of people’s intention. Definitely gets mine.”

“Ten people dead?” Cas really needed to start leaving the house more. He should have gone into town more, he should have… “And you think I did that?”

The wolf snorted. “Cute routine, witch.”

“I mean, I am, obviously a with, but I’m not a killer. I – I barely even go into town.”

He saw a flash of doubt pass through those green eyes for just a moment, but then it was gone again.

“Most witches end up killers in the end. It’s hard to believe.”

“It’s hard to believe the idea of a werewolf… hunter.”

The hunter smirked, proving to Cas he’d guessed right. “I get it, I’m pretty hard to believe.” There was something almost… flirtatious about how the wolf pronounced that last part, though Cas suspected it hadn’t been intentional.

“But sweetheart, I’m as real as they come.”

“…none of that makes me a killer.”

“Ok, again, cute, but…”

Cas closed his eyes and concentrated. He liked the idea that he was shifting this werewolf’s opinion of him already, but it would be foolish to take a chance on that, especially when he still might have an easy way out. Well, easy if he could get it to work

He’d recently found a way of putting people to sleep by holding onto a hexbag he’d made up with several different flowers known for their soothing scents, and lately he’d been using it on himself to help with his own insomnia so had taken to carrying the bag around with him in his pocket. Technically speaking he hadn’t actually tried it out on anyone else _other_ than himself, unless beetles counted.

The beetle yesterday had certainly _looked_ like it was sleeping.

Now if he could just get the naked wolfman to keep talking he might be able to test it out on something larger.

“Being a witch isn’t proof I did any of the things you seem to think I’ve done.”

He was less than an inch away from the lip of his pocket. If he could just…

The wolf was certainly seeming more off guard than he had before, shaking his head with his eyes firmly closed. “I just don’t get you witches. This was something you _chose_ , and all so, what, you could make some pretty sparks fly in the air? So you can terrorize a small town?”

“ _No,_ ” Cas growled, making his reaction visceral enough to excuse the way he sharply reached his arm further down and grasped the head of the bag in his pocket. “To do things like _this_.”

A beat passed and the werewolf frowned. “What, to glare at me?”

But Cas only concentrated harder, trying to ignore the self-conscious awareness of how ridiculous he looked, and gripped a little tighter… soon the werewolf hunter’s eyes began to droop slightly, his hold on Cas loosening as he visibly struggled to keep awake.

“You _dick_ -”

Cas allowed himself a small smile of satisfaction before the weight of the man increased significantly until he’d collapsed down on top of him completely. Right.

So his spell had worked, but now he had to work out what to do with this hunter who assumedly knew where he lived, and would be even more determined than before to kill him.

And despite the other man’s prejudiced convictions, Cas was far from comfortable with killing.

Right.

*

As Dean woke up he fought to keep his eyes closed. A lifetime of hunting had taught him all about why that was always the safest course of action to take if you were able to whenever you woke up to your wrists tied tightly together behind your back. Experimentally, Dean shifted. There was almost no give there, but he was pretty sure it was just an ordinary wooden chair he was tied to here. He could also feel he’d been covered over with some sort of blanket, assumedly for the sake of preserving his modesty. It was also really pretty comfy, some sort of fancy wool material that felt nice against his skin.

The same couldn’t be said for what was holding him. The burning he could feel was because this fucking dick had tied him up using silver chains.

_Silver chains._

What kind of nutcase that wasn’t guilty of something just happened to have that handy?

Cautiously, Dean risked opening one eye and found that it was someone with a cheery yellow kitchen. Looking out the window, he could tell that he was still in the forest, meaning assumedly he really had been brought back to the witch’s own house. If he could just find a way out of these chains before the witch came back then maybe he could find some actual proof – it would make him feel better before he had to do anything, and it would be a lot more likely to impress his Dad. Although he might not mention the part about the kidnap…

“You’re awake,” a voice behind him said, causing Dean to flinch despite his best efforts as the witch walked back in front of him. Again, he thought that the voice didn’t exactly fit the face, which seemed far too scruffy-hipster-woodman to have such a low kind of power suggested in the tone of his voice.

…And Dean needed to _concentrate_ here…

“Nomally I’d offer you some coffee, but it appears that you’re uh… a little tied up at the moment.”

Dean continued to stare. “Seriously, why you went for the serial killer hermit witch lifestyle and not stand up, well it beats me.”

The witch smiled slightly, clearly more at ease now he was the one in control. He was probably used to enjoying that feeling, Dean thought, and had to bite his lip to keep in the new surge of rage rattling through him.

None of those victims in town had died quickly. Official reports Dean had got his hands on had done their best to talk their way around the real gory details.

He had to wonder… if he didn’t make it out of here, would his Dad read through those reports, compare them to Dean’s file?

Would he bother telling Sam?

And even if he did would Sam even care?

“I’m trying not to be too apologetic about this since it was in fact you who started this, but I am going to need to ask you some questions before letting you go anywhere,” Dean processed the witch saying as he leant back against the counter.

It was the most apologetic threat Dean had ever heard someone utter.

He narrowed his eyes. “Then shoot, I guess. Got me stuck in your hotseat over here, I’m not exactly going anywhere.” He’d change that if he could of course, but right now playing a long felt like a better idea. Changing completely at this point would mean maybe getting out, but ending up with two very dislocated shoulders, and his wrists really were tied up effectively.

The witch took a deep breath. “I don’t exactly like the idea, but I’m going to have to try more persuasive ways than tying you up in silver to get you to speak honestly.”

Dean made a face and tried to keep his breathing steady. “Y’know if you were trying to stop me being suspicious about the murders torturing me is not gonna help you.”

The witch looked aghast and squinted at Dean like he was the probable serial killer in the room. “I’m not going to _torture_ you!”

“Ok then what?”

Weakly, the witch held up a syringe. “A truth serum.”

“No.”

“I developed it myself.”

“ _Fuck_ no,” Dean growled, squirming as far back in his chair as the chains allowed him to. “I’m not turning into a frog here because some idiot witch decided to go DIY Guantanamo on me.”

“I assure you, you wouldn’t turn into anything like a frog,” the witch told him, glaring with a frown that was almost adorable for how offended it made him look. “Though… I suppose there is some chance of you gaining an unstoppable urge to sing if I mixed something wrong there….”

“ _Singing?_ Joke’s on you buddy I can’t sing for shit…” The witch’s face remained suspiciously blank. “Are you _messing with me_?”

The witch advanced towards Dean’s neck, syringe held carefully in both hands. “Now, I promise this will hurt less if you don’t move.”

“If this is you trying to reassure me – ow, _fuck_ , you son of a bitch you said that wasn’t gonna hurt!”

The witch backed away glancing down at the syringe in his hand. “It shouldn’t really have…”

“Are you saying I can’t take pain?” Dean felt disproportionately enraged. “Because I was nine did I start crying when my Dad went and bit me in a rage? No, because I could take it, but _that_ stung and… worked,” Dean finished lamely, filled with the urge to break his chains to cover his mouth with his hands.

“It worked,” the witch echoed, staring at him with wide eyes.

Dean blinked. “Wait, why are you surprised? Thought you said you made this yourself?”

“I did, I’ve just never had anyone to test it on,” the witch told him, setting the syringe down.

“What about the rest of your victims?”

“I don’t have any ‘victims’. As I’ve been trying to tell you, you’ve got the wrong witch.”

Even as he wanted to panic at the thought of how much he might unwillingly blurt out, Dean raised his eyebrows and opened his mouth again. “Right. So in a town with a population that could fit in its town hall there’s more than one witch?”

The witch shrugged helplessly. “Like I said, I don’t go into town much. So maybe. Or maybe this is someone coming in from further away.”

“Maybe _two_ witches enjoying a nice romantic murder honeymoon.”

The witch crossed his arms and frowned. “No, I don’t think so. How were the victims found?”

Dean started talking before he was able to concentrate on stopping himself. “All found dead with their throats cut lying in pentacles drawn in their own blood like one of the weaker Buffy episodes. Looks like they drowned in their blood before the loss of it got to them, and all were naked, some with more cuts down their body, their arms, stomach.”

The witch nodded, jaw clenched. “And how do you know for certain it was a witch doing this?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Smelt it on them. People smell different when they’re bodies have been drained for magic.”

“Could have been offerings for a minor god.”

“Symbols didn’t match up. And there was no sulfur smell – demons weren’t involved, at least not directly.”

“Your werewolf senses prove useful in your detective work then.”

“They come in handy for most things except the self-hatred.”

Neither of them said anything for a few moments, Dean staring at the witch with rage, and the witch looking back awkwardly.

“You uh… You said your father bit you?”

Dean continued to glare and did his best to hold his jaw closed, but he could feel beads of sweat already dripping down his forehead from the effort it took. He was not going to talk, he did not need to talk he was not going to –

“He got bit on a hunt when I was eight. Sammy was four. Kept a lid on it mostly and kept hunting like normal, but he was drunk and mad at me, and -” Dean bit down on his lip, furiously trying once more to keep himself from talking. “He didn’t get Sam, and that’s what mattered.”

“Your brother.”

“Yeah. Hasn’t stopped him not saying a word to me in nearly four years though. Wanted to run away, go to _college._ ”

“Maybe he wanted to do something else with his life than hunt.”

“Or maybe he just wanted to get away from his freakish family,” Dean growled. “Now you gonna untie me or what? You’re not exactly convincing me you’re not something I should be hunting, even if you didn’t kill those people.”

The witch stared into space for a moment, head cocked to one side. “I could help you find the killer.”

Dean barked out a laugh. “Not falling for that.”

“But I could help -”

“Either you’re an amateur thrill seeker gonna get us both killed, or you _are_ the killer, or friends with them, and you want to play games that’ll actively get me killed. So no.”

The witch’s shoulders slumped for a moment in defeat, but then his whole face brightened again as he reached his arm out and grabbed the syringe, which Dean could now see was still filled up with liquid.

“Ok, don’t -”

The needle plunged into the man’s arm.

“Ok, firstly, gross. How do you know I don’t have AIDs? How do you know you’re not gonna get my werewolf deal here?”

“The symbology of the bite is part of the contraction power,” the witch explained, putting the needle down again. “So I don’t think that would work. But now that you mention it I will admit I didn’t think of that.”

Dean shook his head in disbelief. “Man, you’re _dumb_.”

“And also not a killer.”

Dean squinted as he looked into those honest blue eyes. There was still a chance that this was all a show, and the witch had some sort of immunity to the thing already, but Dean was tired, and part of him wanted to trust in this weird idiot witch.

“Ok. Untie me then.”

“I wasn’t ever going to keep you tied up for long, but I’m not sure I feel comfortable letting you out just yet. Although you are very attractive and I would like to impress you.”

The witch’s eyes widened as he seemed to process what he’d just said. Dean blinked, slowly.

“I mean…”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Sure.”

“Maybe we should just make out. Y’know. Pass the time ‘til you’re ready to let me go.”

The witch’s jaw twitched in something like terror as Dean ran his own words back through his head. There was no way what he’d just said could be passed off as a joke. They both knew he meant it, had to mean it right now.

“Maybe,” the witch croaked, but made no sign that he was ready to move anywhere.

At a loss, and literally unable to move anywhere, Dean looked at the witch until it became too awkward to do so, at which point he started looking down at his feet, feeling himself blush bright red as he started tapping his feet experimentally.

He’d been on a lot of hunts that took strange turns, but this definitely took the biscuit, the cake and the pie.

How long would a home-brewed truth serum even last? Would he even be able to complete the rest of this hunt without having to call in his Dad for help?

Maybe the witch had an antidote. Maybe he’d even give it to Dean if he ever let him out of these fucking burning chains. Maybe –

The soft brush of another pair of lips against his own brought him back to the present. It was only fleeting, too fleeting for Dean to do anything about, but it was tender and warm and genuine. Honest.

“I’m going to untie you now,” the witch explained, voice hoarse. “Please don’t attack me again.”

“I won’t. You uh. You seem alright. Y’know. For a witch.”

Fingers rubbed at the skin on Dean’s wrists covered by the chains. “My name’s Cas.”

“Ok. Hi, I guess. I’m Dean.”

“Hello.”

“Yeah, yeah. This is still weird.”

“Very.”

*


End file.
